Devil's Advocate
by justaGibbsgirl1980
Summary: For the TIVA fans that know that ultimately there can only be one man in Ziva's life. Three guesses and the first two don't count...
1. Chapter 1

***Disclaimer: I own the dvd's and a brilliant story about Gibbs but sadly that is all. Oh, and I do own a vcr with which to tape the next 3 glorious episodes because I will be working.

WHAP! Her glove hit the training bag. A jab. A punch. A hook. An uppercut. A backhand. She repeated. She repeated again, until the cool of the bag was warm from her repeated blows. She was fighting an invisible enemy known only to her, but an enemy nonetheless. THUMP! Her foot hit the training bag. A front kick. A side kick. A round house and a jump kick. She repeated. She repeated again until the tape around her foot came loose from her repeated blows. She had been here for hours. They had shut the gym down around her but still she remained. Soft lights lit her face. The only other solution was to run it out of her system and she had tried that. Repeatedly. She had run through the streets of D.C., through the rain, sun, and now snow. Day after day, month after month with the confusion still wrapping around her brain. Tonight was the worst of all of them.

She kicked and punched trying to smooth the rough edges of her fathers words. They echoed loudly and repetitively. Her most recent trip to Israel was supposed to have been for pleasure. Pleasure? she thought. Maybe that was the wrong word – then again, maybe not. It was not a relationship that she and Michael had, but more of an agreement. An agreement not to want more. An agreement to give what was asked and nothing more. Sure she was attracted to him. Would she be sleeping with him if she was not? But Tony's words came viciously back to her from the day before. 'Israel's a long way to go for a booty call' he had said in a tone that had been laced with sarcasm. She had almost been able to see it dripping from his tongue. But his words had been right on the dollar. Dollar? No, right on the dime. No… She shook her head as much to clear it of the idiom as to clear it of him. But which him? The one that showed up unannounced on her doorstop last night, red eyed and bleary from his late night flight from Israel? Or the one that had commanded her every waking thought until a few months ago? The one that teased her mercilessly about her grasp of the English language and berated her with endless movie quotes that in the beginning had driven her crazy but now… now they were almost a comfort.

Maybe she did not want to be clear of them. Them? One or the other, Ziva, you can not have both, her mind told her. She pounded the bag harder. The sound resounded off the walls and fell back against her. How did it all get so complicated? Complicated? She laughed out loud at the word. The word that Tony had unknowingly broken her heart with. She let fly a few more punches then suddenly stopped as awareness brushed over her. She knew that feeling. There had been a time when she craved the warmth of his gaze. But lately? The warm gazes had been replaced with icy stares. But he was only half responsible. It had been so long since she had felt the warmth creep into his gaze. He had been so broken because of _her_. _Her_ who had managed to do what no woman, herself included, had ever accomplished. Jeanne had almost tamed the stallion. Ziva felt his gaze rake over her from the doorway and almost felt guilty for allowing herself to enjoy it. Michael was waiting at her apartment. Waiting for her return. Waiting in her bed for her and yet here she was at 3a.m. pounding the stuffing out of a punching bag. She paused briefly and stared at the bag.

"You're googling again."

"Ogling, Ziva, ogling – and haven't we had this conversation before?" he said, darting his eyes back and forth. "Déjà vu".

"I think I actually owe you a few rounds for those pictures, yes?" she said, slamming a barrage of round house kicks soundly against the bag.

"McGee deleted them months ago", he said, looking around the room, avoiding her eyes.

"Months?" she asked, turning slowly around and taking a step closer to him, a paperclip glint in her eyes.

"Ok, ok, maybe it was more like weeks," he said, taking one step back to her two steps forward.

"Weeks?" she said, closing the distance between them quicker than he could get away.

He gave a nervous laugh and flashed her the DiNozzo smile. "Well…" he said, scratching his head.

"Hmmm…?" she said in almost a purr as she came within inches of his lips.

His voice cracked like a 12-year-old boy when he spoke. "I'll…I'll make sure I get rid of them tomorrow."

Ziva raised a single eyebrow, still invading his space.

"Tonight. I'll delete them tonight."

"Tonight is tomorrow, Tony. It is 3am."

"Well to be exact – it's…" he said, jiggling his wrist to check the time. "…3:11am, which to any normal person would beg the question – Why are you here?"

"It is a gym, Tony. Why do you think that I am here? To watch a movie?"

"Ha, ha," he said with a chuckle, shaking his finger at her. "Now you're just trying to be cute."

"Mossad does not train 'cute'," she said, turning back to the bag and punctuating her words with punches.

"And yet you pull it off with such enthusiasm," he said as she slammed her glove against the bag.

"Why are you here, Tony?" she asked, taking a few deep breaths.

"Ah, ah," he said, wagging his finger at her. "I asked you first."

"And you will answer first," she said, stepping closer to him once again.

Oh, he wanted to answer her all right. He wanted to answer her with a few strategically placed moves of his own. He didn't know what he'd been thinking, trying to sneak in and watch her without her knowing. Her ninja senses had detected him the second he had breathed through the crack in the door. But it had been sooo tempting. He had taken a snack run in the middle of a ginormous stack of paperwork and had seen her car in the parking lot. He had half expected to see her at his desk, sitting on the edge, awaiting his return. Lately she had been staying late, coming in early. No one had bothered to question her. Who questions anything an assassin does? Not him that's for sure. He had done his partner duty and invited her for drinks, late night movie showings. And where a year ago she would never have refused not one of his offers, she had turned him down cold every time lately. At first he had brushed it off as breaking herself back into America again, decompressing from what he imagined to be her father's strong hand. But the months went on and on…and on. And she had distanced herself even farther. Then the photo.

The photo. He had burned that damn picture into his mind so that if the guy ever appeared to him in the flesh, he would be sure to let him know how he felt. She had flown almost 6000 miles for a piece of ass. A goddamn booty call and he had told her as much. She hadn't denied it. She had made no attempt to defend her actions. If all she had been looking for was a quick way to satisfy the hunger all she would have had to do is ask. Or maybe eat a Snickers. She could have clubbed him and drug him to her apartment reverse caveman style. But in the back of his mind he knew that the woman and man that they were now would never be able to settle for a one night stand. Once upon a time, page 57 of GSM might have turned into a one night stand, but now? Not with each other. He could never treat her like the others, not even Jeanne. Jeanne. The name sent a spike into his stomach as he stared at the Israeli beauty in front of him. His attraction to this woman was inexplicable. While he could find words to describe Jeanne and what they had together there were no words for Ziva. No paragraphs, no epic novels. Just Ziva.

And that should say it all right there, he thought. But something held him back. Something had held him back for the past 4 years. There was nothing – absolutely nothing – he wouldn't do for her and he hoped she felt the same. He knew she felt the same. But the distance between them that had previously been no thicker than a piece of notebook paper now resembled the Grand Canyon. He wanted to close the distance again. He wanted the fun Tony and Ziva. The TIVA if you will, he thought to himself. He grinned stupidly at the nickname he had created for them. His grin grew bigger when he switched the letters again: Zony. His grin must have gone from stupid to downright idiotic because Ziva had stopped packing the gym bag in front of her and rose to her full height, head tilted, sweat glistening on her face.

"You are grinning like a food, Tony."

"Fool, Ziva."

"Exactly."

She grabbed her bag and started walking across the mats. He fell into step beside her, walking backwards so he could watch her face.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"And you will answer first, Special Agent DiNozzo."

"You know why I'm here, Officer David. The same reason I'm always here late… Or early," he said, checking his watch again.

"Paperwork?"

"Paperwork. Your turn. What's got your panties in a bunch?"

"I do not wear panties."

His mouth went dry, his mind blank. "Commando?" he said in a choked whisper.

"Thong," she said nonchalantly, without reservation.

Don't picture it. Do not picture it, he told himself. He slapped himself in the back of the head.

"You pictured it?" she said with a smirk.

He gave her a scowl but knew that she had baited him into that one.

"No."

Again with the raised eyebrow, he thought.

"Yes," he said in a defeated voice.

"You are too easy, Tony."

He laughed. "If that were true, Ziva, I would be in bed right now and I would not be alone."

The words made her stomach turn slightly and she was at a loss to describe why. She had given up on Tony when she had left for Israel and left him behind. How could she have known she would be returning? That the only reason for their split was a glorified molehunt by the SecNav cigar? So she had spent her time in Israel reconnecting with herself. Retraining herself. Her body. Her mind. Her heart. She had become soft in America. And while most people would not consider Federal Agents 'soft', she knew that her whole persona – who she was – had become a reflection of agency training. And not the agency of Mossad. So retraining was imperative. The skills, the senses, the hardened soul, the cold, emotionless heart.

There was a time, not that long ago, when she had wanted to be that woman in his bed. She had wanted to be to him what Jeanne had been. But the consequences of a relationship with a non-Mossad, non-Israeli, non-Jewish man might even be more weight than even her slight shoulders could bear, no matter her strength. And a family? Gibbs had asked her once if she wanted children. It had not been a simple question then and it was no simpler now, two years later. She rarely let herself get caught up in thoughts of a home with a husband and babies. It was more than unheard of in Israel. A husband? Arranged marriage. Children? Only to continue the line of assassins. Growing up she had believed everything her father told her. As a teenager, she had been proud to be Mossad, proud to be a woman who could bear future lineage to her father, arranged marriage or not. But as the years had gone by, as she was able to see herself as a different type of woman, her goals in life has become different. For brief instances in time, she had been able to see herself as a wife and mother. She had caught herself staring into the mirror, imagining what she would look like with a baby encased within her. Here and there she had dropped hints, however cryptic, to Tony, about having a family, simply to gauge his reaction. She knew how Michael felt. He had never hidden his feelings about creating children with her. But Tony? He had barely been able to allow himself be tied to one girl for more than one week when Jeanne rolled through. The commitment word was more than a scary word to him. It was a dirty word. A word that carried with it thoughts of the woman whose heart he broke and whom had returned the favor. Her thoughts were interrupted by Tony, who was snapping his fingers in front of her face.

"Come on, I'll walk you out," Tony said, grabbing the bag from her shoulder.

"Are you afraid that the big bad dog might jump out and eat me, Tony?"

"Wolf, Ziva, and no, but the Abominable Snowman may decide to ravage you in the storm."

"Storm?" she said questioningly. How long have I been here, she thought.

"It's snowing liked crazy out there. How long have you been in here?" he asked, pushing open the door, echoing her thoughts.

A/N: So these first couple of chapters have been handwritten in my notebook for about two months now and I figured with the appearance of the awful Michael Rifken on the show, now might be a good time to dig it out and post it. It's far from complete, even in my head but feedback is appreciated…. Enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

***Disclaimer: If I owned any of it, that would mean that I wrote for a brilliant TV show and had a job that I loved. Sadly, no….

She gasped as an icy blast of wind and snow hit her face. She pulled her coat tighter around her and looked around for Tony but he had moved ahead of her quickly and tossed her bag on the trunk of the nearest car. The snow was falling fast now, in large flakes. Her feet left footprints as she crossed the parking lot. Her eyes became mesmerized by how small her print was next to Tony's. All of a sudden her ninja senses sent off a signal to her brain and her head snapped up just as the snowball finished its arc and hit her squarely in the face.

Tony knew he was a deadman long before the cold ball of frozen water even left his hand, but he didn't care. He wanted to see the fire again. The fire that used to light her from the inside and in return, made his brain go crazy for wanting her. She came after him then, the glint in her eyes reading somewhere between NCIS and Mossad, which was like comparing a bowl of jello to a paperclip when it came right down to it. He knew better than to run across the slick parking lot so he was forced to stand his ground. She approached him slowly, as a puma would approach her prey. When she pounced, it was swift and silent, just as a stealth ninja should be. He was on his back, the cold, wet snow seeping into his clothes before he had even realized that she had moved from her spot. She was on top of him, mount position, snow gathered in both fists, watching his face. And then, without so much as a twitch for warning, snow was on his face, against his neck and down his shirt. He closed his eyes, still contemplating the possibility of her having a third hand with all the snow that was on him, when he felt the warmth leave his body. He opened his eyes and saw her standing over him with a smirk on her face.

"Never mess with Mossad. You will always lose," she said, winking at him. "Always."

He smiled back at her. "Is that anything like 'Let the Wookie win?"

"Wookie?"

"Star Wars?" he said, lowering his voice and beginning some heavy breathing. " 'Luke, I am your father'."

She shook her head and extended a hand to him which he grasped willingly. He began brushing the snow from his shirt, doing a mental inventory of the number of clean, dry, shirts he had left in his desk. She reached out and brushed a few flakes from his collar, her fingers grazing his neck as she did so. He couldn't help his reaction to her. Her fingers against his skin were like fire to ice, melting him from the outside in. He reached up and grasped her wrist and brought it down to rest on his waist. When she began to protest, he put his fingers to his lips. She became quiet, curiosity reading on her face as he took her other hand and brought it also to his waist. They were standing alone in the parking lot with only the glow of the street lights around them. He wrapped his arms around her and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"Look up," he said, his voice barely audible as he inhaled her scent.

She searched his face, with a questioning look on her own.

"Hold on and look up," he repeated.

She tilted her head back and caught her breath. The snow came straight down and to stare into it, she felt like she was falling. Falling backwards into oblivion. Into Utopia. Had she ever had a more perfect moment in her life? She was sure she had but she was at a loss as to what it was. Right now the only thing that mattered was her. And him. Them. She held him tighter as she continued to fall. Finally, after she was fairly certain that years had passed as they stood there, she tilted her head back down. He smiled as the snowflakes on her eyelashes melted and more replaced them. She had dropped her arms when she had brought her head down but his were still firmly around her waist. She didn't fight it and he was glad.

"My mom used to do that with me when I was little." He shrugged his shoulders.

"I have never seen anything like that."

She thought she felt him grasp her waist a little tighter just before he let go. She wanted to throw her arms back around him and stay in the moment. She knew it sounded like a bad romance movie. She also knew better than to attempt it. And while a half hour ago, she had been 100% certain of his feelings for her, now…now the black and white was starting to fuzz into gray and she was no more certain of his feelings than her own. And it scared her. And that was an emotion she rarely encountered – fear. She had been trained to look past the fear and eventually it would fade. She was brought out of her thoughts by a warm hand grasping hers. She started to pull it away but he held firm and placed a single kiss to her open palm, his eyes never leaving hers. He reluctantly let go when the moment passed and backed away.

"Night, Ziva," he said in a soft tone.

She nodded, unable to bring words – any words – to her lips. He had caught her completely off guard with the kiss and she had loved it. Her mind screamed at her to regain her composure, gain back the steely eyed assassin mode she had worked so hard to acquire. But she hesitated a full minute before giving in to her Mossad mindset. Her eyes followed him as he went back inside. She wanted to follow right behind him but she knew she must go home. Home. There's a word, she thought. Had she ever really had one? Had she ever really had a place that was as comfortable and familiar to her as a home should be? She didn't like the answer that echoed back to her as she slid behind the wheel of her Cooper and started the engine.

He had taken the stairs back up to the bullpen, if for nothing else than the extra time it allowed him. He wasn't sure where the kiss had come from, what it had meant. He was the one who did it, though, shouldn't he know what it meant? And the answer to that, of course, was yes but damned if his mind was letting him in on the secret. As he reached his desk and changed his shirt, his mind started fuzzing. He yawned as he sat in his chair. A minute, he thought. I'll just rest my eyes for a minute. No one will ever know. The movie running in his mind before he drifted off was definitely a Ziva documentary.

She tried to make no noise as she unlocked her door and moved silently across the room. She was sure that he was awake, waiting for her, as he always was. She slipped into the bathroom for a quick shower. Ten minutes later, she was sliding in next to Michael, the warmth of him engulfing her. She slid her arm around his waist, waiting for the question. She was surprised when it never came. She ran her hand across his chest, testing. He shifted slightly but his breathing was even. He was asleep. She had never known him to sleep so soundly, but his flight had been long and he had stayed awake as long as possible to adjust to the time change. He had also been waiting for her. She had told him simply that she was going for a workout. He had been agreeable to the thought of rest but pushed her for words. Words she wasn't ready to speak and questions she wasn't ready to answer. She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling. She knew, without words, that her father had sent Michael, but the reason? A thousand of them jumped out at her. She knew that her father was intent on seeing her married off to Michael. They had been partners in Israel. They had been more than partners. But Tony was her partner now. Or was he? Her return from Israel after Jenny's death had seemed to mirror the rest of her team mates. Everyone was distanced – emotionally, physically. She had thought that time would help them to sort through it but it seemed that time had only made it worse. And her father's words echoed back to her again.

'_Gibbs is a friend,yes?' he had asked, leaning slowly back in chair, peering at her over the rims of his glasses._

'_He is my boss, Papa.'_

'_And your boss came out of retirement to save you, yes?'_

_She had only nodded, not liking the direction of the conversation. 'I no longer wish to talk about this, Papa.'_

'_And what did you do for him, my Ziva?'_

'_Papa, if you are implying that I-…that we…' she had said, shaking her head._

'_What power did you have over him that he dropped everything to come and save my Ziva?'_

_When she had not answered, he had slammed his fist against the dark mahoghany wood of his desk, his eyes dark with rage. Her eyes had immediately met his and in that moment, she knew that he knew. He knew about Ari. He knew her secret. He knew. She had loved and trusted Ari without restraint. She had never questioned his actions or motives until Gibbs. And in that moment, Ari's words to Gibbs about her father had come crashing back. They played like a broken tape in her head. Her father's expression had been unflinching. She was sure that she had seen a glimpse of the Devil himself shadow across her father's features. An advocate to the devil, she remembered thinking. What had she heard time and again growing up? Keep your friends close, my princess, and your enemies closer. _

Her eyes turned to the man sleeping next to her. She had never seen him as the enemy, only a friend. Her father's cryptic words, coming from Michael's mouth a month ago had given her the chills. That her father sent his love. She knew that her father had far reaching connections. There were days when the idea of a Mossad NCIS infiltration even skittered across her mind. She knew that his tentacles reached into Fornell's place of play and possibly even into the inner workings of Trent Kort. The sparks started igniting in her brain as thoughts of Kort entered it. She thought to what Tony had told her about the Vance file that had surreptitiously come from the CIA operative and wondered just how many other files he had ferreted away, waiting for the opportunity to play Lucifer.

The chills she felt then assured her that her father had not come by this information by accident. The fact that she had killed Ari – a fact known only to one other person in the world, save for her – and not Gibbs, was something that crept into the back of her mind at least once a day, and stayed to torment. Ari had been everything to her. She had put him on a pedestal. She had believed his words, she had followed in his footsteps, and she had looked to him for leadership and guidance. And he had failed her. God, how she had wanted Gibbs to be wrong. She had never known Kate. But she had known how Gibbs had felt about her. Her dossier on him had been nothing if not thorough. She had done surveillance and undercover ops just to complete her report. She had seen through the walls and windows a man and a woman that didn't even need words to communicate. That a look was enough to last the night. That a kiss to the neck was the ultimate sin. And that a kiss dropped lightly to the middle of her palm was an action that turned into nights of endless lovemaking.

And Ari had taken that from him. But in the strange turn of events to follow, Ziva realized that in Ari's ultimate betrayal, he had given her a new life, a new chance. She had been given the opportunity to be extracted from underneath her father's heavy hand. She had been partnered with a man who at one point in time she had believed could have been something to her. More than just a partner. More than just a Michael.

A/N: Not as long as usual but I'm desperately trying to get the WHOLE story done before Tuesday because I don't want to be beat to the punch. If I don't finish until after Rivken gets whacked on Tuesday, I'm not going to want to finish the story. And Rivken will be killed. I got 100 bucks on Tony for the killshot.


	3. Chapter 3

***Disclaimer: Own nothing but the dvd's…

At zero five thirty Ziva was still wide awake, mind racing, fighting, raging against the more she pushed her mind for answers, the more questions it asked. Small seeds of doubt had slowly been planted over the past few months, she had just chosen to ignore them. Michael would not betray her any more than her father would. And that's where her mind stuck. So she got up, restless, and prepared for a run even though she hated running in the snow. She ran hard and she ran fast. Too fast. The run ended almost as quickly as it had begun. The thoughts were still rolling through her head like a blender. The only difference was that when she had left Michael had been asleep and now… He stepped out of her bedroom, briefcase in hand, well tailored suit draped over his body. She wanted to start the conversation but she was unsure of herself, of her words. She and Michael rarely needed words. What they had had was unspoken. What they had now needed definition.

"Leaving so early?"

"Business, Ziva, and it is not so early that you are not already up," he said crossing the room to the kitchen where she stood. She poured him a cup of coffee and took one for herself. She started to walk to the bedroom with her coffee when his hand reached out to grab her elbow. The pressure of his fingers into her skin made her uneasy. She had never doubted him but suddenly something, some unidentifiable feeling, dropped to the pit of her stomach.

"Are you so quick to get away from me now?" he said, looking down at her.

"What is your business in America, Michael? Papa never mentioned your trip."

"That is because your father does not know about my trip. It is an, shall we say, undercover project."

Her father didn't know? But hadn't Michael said that…that her father had sent him and his love?

"With approval from whom?" Ziva said, her voice raising only slightly.

"That is not for you to know."

"And what is for me to know, Michael? We were partners. Is it so secretive that even I am not to be let in?"

"You are no longer Mossad, Ziva David."

She came at him then but stopped short. "I am more Mossad than you. Why are you here?"

"You were no longer Mossad when you pinned that phony plastic badge to your waist."

"How dare you question my loyalty."

At this Michael laughed. "Loyalty? Loyalty to who Ziva? To Gibbs and his flea circus? Or to your father, the most feared man in all of Israel?"

He bent down and kissed her fiercely, almost violently, before leaving, briefcase in hand. As the door clicked behind him, Ziva wiped her mouth on her sleeve but stood rooted to the spot on which she stood. He had questioned her loyalties. Michael. Her own partner for all the years she had been Mossad. But had he been wrong to question? She knew she was loyal to NCIS, to Gibbs. And when in America, thoughts of her father were once a week, as were his calls. When in Israel, she had no other choice but to be loyal to Mossad and her father. But Ziva was left to wonder if she was the only one that needed to be questioned.

Her day was uneventful. No cases, no paperwork, just another day. A day in which she had nothing but time to replay the last few months, the last few days, the last few hours. And through her thought process, and Tony's incessant need to ask her what she was thinking about every five minutes, she was only able to come up with one clear solution. She knew that Michael assumed that she only talked to her father once a week and even then, they never talked business. And he would be right in his assumption. At this point Michael might even be closer to her own father than she was. So she put in a request. Nothing so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow but an MTAC request to conference with her father. But setting it for tomorrow gave her time. Time that she needed to work out exactly what she would say. She needed time to try to figure out why Michael was really in America. Maybe he had just woke up on the wrong side of the head this morning? Or maybe it was as he had said, an undercover mission. But a mission without her father's involvement? Her father was never without knowledge of operations, unless they were rogue operations… She didn't like where her mind was leading her. She called a few people that owed her some favors and made some inquiries. She put out some feelers. For some reason, this op that Michael was here for was now giving her a bad vibe. It was never like him to be this secretive with her. There had never been secrets between them. She looked over at Tony. She wished she could say the same about her current partner. She felt as if she knew Tony inside and out but he had not let them know about Jeanne. Her mind kicked her. He had every right to keep them in the dark, it was a mission. But it didn't make her dislike Jeanne any less.

The day wound down and she saw McGee pack his bag and slip on his overpriced leather coat and bid them goodnight. She nodded and looked to Gibbs who was rubbing his eyes. She figured on another five minutes before he left and then she would run up and talk to Director Vance about tomorrow's conference. She looked to Tony's desk, his empty desk. He had been quick to leave tonight and she had been curious but she knew that he had been keeping his distance lately. Except for the parking lot early this morning. Her body warmed at the remembrance. Gibbs walked by her desk and nodded at her, reaching down to squeeze her hand as he walked by.

Tony hadn't left early because he wanted to, he had left because he couldn't take being in the same room with her anymore and not being able to bring a smile to her face. He had watched her all day and the serious look had never left her beautiful features. He hadn't gone out for a drink, he hadn't even stopped to rent the newest release at the movie store. He unlocked his front door and dropped his bag. He flopped down on the couch, not even reaching for the remote. Something was bothering him. Something about Ziva. Alright, he contended to himself, something about Ziva had ALWAYS bothered him. Her skills were downright scary. But this was a different kind of bother, a different kind of niggling doubt that was in his head. He walked to the fridge to grab a beer and wandered to the window that looked out over the city. The snow had melted and in its place was rain. Not a downpour and not a drizzle. Just a steady motion. He liked it because it matched his mood. He knew, without trying, that he would not be sleeping tonight. He knew he would try, even change into some loungepants and a longsleeve tee and crawl up under the comforter. But the rain would continue to fall and might even continue to fall from a raincloud located right above his bed. This thing with Ziva was harsh. The more he tried to figure out the answer, the more questions that popped into his head. His mind was showing a movie reel of the past year. It seemed like it had gone by all too quickly. He remembered slipping into the closet with her during the quest for Domino. They had been inches apart for only seconds but it had been enough. It had been enough to sail him through the next couple of months. He loved the feeling of her being close to him. Close but not touching, tempting fate. He tilted his head back for a moment, remembering how she had looked that day when she told him he could have called. He rewound that scene in his mind and watched it again. And again. The look on her face, the way her hair fell down on her shoulders. He had lost his breath for a minute then. He had wanted to back her against the wall and claim her as his. But the timing had been off. Jenny's death had destroyed a lot of things. For him, his relationship with Ziva. If Jenny hadn't died, Ziva would never have been sent back to Israel. Back into the arms of…Rivkin. He now had a face to go with the name. Abby would do anything for an unlimited supply of Caf-Pows. Thinking maybe a shower would help, he threw his empty bottle in the trash and headed for the bathroom.

The hot water sliced across his back as he tried to relax. The water was supposed to make him feel better not worse. As the soap rinsed away, he leaned his head against the shower wall and sighed. He had to find a way to close the distance between them. What had that hooker told him? Pick the right woman… Easier said than done. The picking was easy, the convincing was a little harder. He knew he wanted Ziva. Hell, he'd always wanted Ziva. Even when he had been with Jeanne he had wanted Ziva. What man didn't want her? She was ravishing. She was exotic with the accent and killer with the moves of an assassin. But that was the attraction. A type of woman he had never had before, never encountered and had been considered his best friend. She had stuck with him through everything, he thought. His mind got a little clearer. He turned the water a little hotter, needing it to burn into his skin. He thought back to their first year together. The look on her face after sticking it to that woman on the battlefield. And the way she wore that hat… like it was almost too big for her head, which it probably was considering it had been his, hence the ventilation hole. And the undercover assignment. She had kissed him as if she meant it, as if they had really been lovers. He could almost taste her lips again. He remembered the way she had insisted on being on top, the way he had brushed the hair back from her face. She had straddled him numerous times and he had done everything in his power to contain himself, to not let her affect him but she had and she knew it. She was affecting him now. He reached for the knob and turned the cold water on full blast. He smiled, loving the way she made him feel, even when she wasn't around.

A few hours later, across town, Gibbs was replacing the sandpaper on his sander when his cell rang. His eyes moved to the clock on the wall and read 1:33 am. He walked to the workbench and searched for the phone. Buried beneath a pile of sawdust, he brushed it off and flipped it open.

"Yea, Gibbs."

"I have some information for you," said a heavily accented man's voice.

Gibbs recognized the voice but was wary of the words.

"I'm listening," Gibbs said, knowing that Trent Kort was a man of deception and it usually carried over into his words.

The other man began to speak and Gibbs features hardened. For all that made him not want to believe what the foreign man was saying, he knew that he had to. If a member of his team was in danger, mortal danger, he couldn't take what Kort was saying lightly. Gibbs didn't even bother saying goodbye. He simply hung up the phone and hit the button that would immediately reach his senior agent.

Tony had finally dropped off about an hour before his phone began ringing. At first he thought it was his alarm clock. He hit the clock but the ringing persisted. He dragged himself out of sleep mode and reached in the direction of the sound. His arm reached out farther and farther… He didn't realize he had fallen off the bed until he hit the floor. The phone was silent. He layed on the comforter that had rolled off with him for a minute. The phone began buzzing again and he threw his hand up to grab it and in doing so managed to pull the alarm clock down on his head.

"This had better be important," he growled into the phone without even bothering to check the caller id. "Oh, hey Boss," he said coming to a sitting position as the older man explained the situation to him. Tony heard the words Ziva and danger in the same sentence and immediately began searching for his coat. He had clothes at work, why waste time changing now? He threw on his boots, laces untied, threw the coat on over his bare chest, grabbed his keys and opened his door, phone still attached to his ear. He was startled when he ran headfirst into a person that had been standing in his doorway. It was either the phone or the girl and lord knows he was nothing if not chivalrous to a beautiful woman, so the phone hit the ground and the woman fell into his arms. Immediately he was overpowered by her scent. Not a powerful scent but he was overpowered because it was one he knew, one he had been dreaming about for the past hour. He held her for what seemed like an eternity and she let him. But the screaming that was coming from his forgotten cell phone was definitely not happy screams. He steadied the woman and reached for his phone.

"Boss…yea I know… I will, but… no but…Ziva's here."

There was silence on the other end and Gibbs reacted to Tony's words. Tony grabbed her hand and pulled her into the apartment. He leaned his head out the door one more time, Gibbs talking in low voice to him on the phone. When he was satisfied there was no one in the hallway, he closed the door and locked it. His conversation finished and Gibbs content with the fact that Ziva was safe for the time being, Tony hung up the phone.

**A/N: So I'm still trying to get this all written and posted before tonights ep but I don't think it's gonna happen… The theory is that Michael is sent to take out Ziva because he found out about Ari. Tony gets the killshot on Michael and Ziva is insanely mad that Tony shot her boyfriend. Arguments, angst, and of course TIVA ensues. Ok that's gonna be the story.**

**Two theories on tonights ep: A)Tony takes out Rivkin and Ziva is insanely mad and we have another season of will they-won't they TIVA or B) Ziva was the one with the undercover op this season and has been playing Michael the whole time (and us too if it really was a Daddy David mission). **

**Either way, Rivkins gone and they will have both had their 'other' relationships and can now focus on each other. A lot of people don't want them to get together b/c it will kill the cat n mouse game but DPB is brilliant and there's always a way. They'll get together, then have a bad breakup and then be back together when the series ends. Remember Friends? **


	4. Chapter 4

_***So here it is, the next chapter. Apologies are a sign of weakness or it might be that it takes strength to apologize, either way…. No excuses. Life get's in the way. And probably in heaven, nothing gets in the way of good writing time but down here, there just don't seem to be enough hours in the day. Hopefully updates will not be so few and far between at this point. 11days and counting…._

He turned to look at her then. She was damp from the rain. He watched her as she moved through his apartment. He wanted to question, to ask the all important words, but he knew that answers would come. But they would have to come soon if what Gibbs had told him was true. He watched her cross to the window, the rain still continuing its downward spiral outside. He knew to wait. He knew to wait for her to come to him, to reveal the reason behind her early morning visit. Her clothes were damp but not soaked. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail but it wasn't her appearance that grabbed his attention so much as the look on her face. He could almost register it as fear if he didn't know her better. It was a look that he had seen so many times staring back at him from the mirror after Jeanne. It was funny, he thought. He hadn't thought in terms of her in a long time. After everything had gone down, he had defined his life as 'before Jeanne' and 'after Jeanne'. Now, a year later, it was just defined as time. But he could see the look on Ziva's face and knew what it meant.

At this point he could only guess at her feelings for Michael. The feelings had been real enough to her to make him jealous, though he had denied it each time she had accused. And she had accused a lot. But to himself he would admit it, admit the twinge he felt every time he heard her speak the word 'Shalom' into a phone, the anger that rose to and tightened in his chest when he realized that it was another man that had been bringing a smile to her face. Not that he had any claim over her, save for the fact that she was his partner. She complemented him perfectly. They had become so close that it wasn't a finishing of each others sentences so much as a complementing of lifestyles. And so he watched her stare out the window, her damp hair holding its curl. He felt the sudden urge to wrap his arms around her and hold her until the smile returned to her face, even if it meant he had to hold on for days. Because, somewhere along the line he had come to the realization that holding on to Ziva forever, might not be the worst thing in the world.

Tony walked to the couch and sat, leaning forward to pull off his boots. Good thing Probie-Wan can't see this outfit, he thought. This one would have made YouTube for sure. He took off his jacket and laid it across the back of the couch, leaving him bare chested as he leaned back to wait. The minutes ticked by. His 007 clock on the wall next to the TV was the only sound in the room save for the falling rain. He tilted his head back to look at the ceiling, anything to keep his eyes off of her. He was able to contain himself for only another 30 seconds or so before his eyes drifted in her direction. Her figure was outlined against the window by the outside light. Moonlight or streetlight, he wasn't sure which, but what he did know was that she was beautiful. It was a simple beauty, though Ziva had never been a simple woman. His eyes started on a downward path, beginning with the long black tresses that fell across her back. His eyes traveled to her small waist and further even to the rest of her curves that he had always been so appreciative of. He saw her put her hands in the pockets of her pants and slowly turn to face him.

She had felt his eyes on her as she stood, staring into the night. He never had been able to keep his eyes off of her, she thought to herself. From day one he had always been admiring of her foreign looks. Her body always warmed under his gaze so she always knew when he was around. But at 1:30am on a Friday morning, it was hardly the time or the place to try defining her bodies reactions to Tony. She needed to explain herself, though she was sure that Gibbs had already filled him in. How had Gibbs known almost as soon as she had? She knew better than to question 'the gut', but this time she was left wondering if the famous Gibbs gut had had any help with its musings. She turned to face Tony, knowing that she could trust him with whatever she told him, knowing that betrayal was not something that Tony knew how to do.

"Tony, I…," she started. "I am here because…," and again her words trailed off.

He met her eyes as she turned to look at him. He watched her face, her body, as she searched for the words that would enlighten him.

"Michael was on a Mossad mission to kill an American NCIS agent."

There. She had said it. The breath that she hadn't been aware she was holding, left her body and her shoulders slumped a little bit. She lost a small piece of herself by admitting it, by saying it out loud. She was the one, the one who had given Tony hell for falling for Jeanne and here she had made the same damn mistake. God, how she hated herself for it. Her eyes lifted to his to catch his reaction but his face was blank. Maybe he was waiting for more.

"Was?" he said with little emotion, giving away nothing.

"Is, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Yes, Tony, my best guess is that he is still on the mission."

"I thought Mossad trained you to pillow talk better than that Ziva David."

"Pillow talk?" she said with a slight twinge in her voice.

"The conversations you have when lying next to a person in bed, usually after moments of intense, heated—"

She held up a hand. "I get it."

"Or you got it?"

"Are you jealous, Tony?"

"This is like the fifth time you've asked me that Officer David. Are you hoping that my answer has changed since the last time you asked?" he said, almost heatedly, as he rose from the couch.

She started to turn away from him, back to the window, when his words caught her.

"Who is the NCIS agent?"

She stopped mid-turn and slowly faced him again. She shook her head as she spoke.

"I do not know."

He gave a small grunt. "You don't know as in you don't have any idea or as in you do know but just won't give it up?"

She knew she deserved every bit of sarcasm and anger in his voice. She was being evasive. She knew it. He knew it. But dammit she wasn't trained to play nice when it came to missions, to foreign operatives.

"I do not know. I can say it no clearer than that, Tony."

She moved around the coffee table to look at him squarely. She knew better than to compromise a mission by words. It was weak and her father did not appreciate weakness any more than he appreciated a compromised mission. But her father was thousands of miles away. And although Eli David knew little of her life in America, her coworkers, he did know that the trust Ziva had in them was beyond spoken word. So when her voice wavered it was almost undetectable. Almost.

Tony noticed the slight falter in her voice as she spoke and wondered what was holding her back. Could her father's heavy hand really extend across oceans? He shook his head at the thought. He shuffled it to the back of his mind and focused on the woman in front of him. At 2 am his mind was still a little cloudy but he forced concentration.

"My father and Vance are on 'friendly' terms with one another."

"And by friendly, you mean?" he said, tipping his head towards her in question.

"By friendly, I mean able to ask favors."

She twisted her hands, pushing her nail against her palm.

"My father, in his eyes, did Vance a favor by allowing my return last year but that favor did not come without strings."

"A favor in return for a favor?" he said, his eyebrows raised in question.

"The condition of my return was an undercover assignment involving Rivkin. My father had come to the slow awareness of Michael's rogue operations."

Tony did some quick thinking and some even quicker calculations. His mind replayed the movie reel of her wounded body splayed across ZNN for the world to see. He slowly pieced it together. Slowly.

"When I returned to Israel, my father already had an assignment waiting for me. It was a lot like your undercover assignment with Jeanne."

"Only Mossad ninja style, right?" he said with a half grin, the only thing he could muster at the moment.

Her amusement did not match his, only because she knew the gravity of the situation she was now facing.

"I was to become close with Michael again and---". Her words were cut short.

"Again?" Tony asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from her mouth.

"Again."

She turned and started to the window, then changed her mind and returned to the spot she had been previously rooted to.

"Papa had noticed that Micheal's assigned missions were taking him longer each time they were assigned. He did some checking. Not much, but enough to for him to need me back home."

"And so you made the most of your short stay in Israel."

"I was able to become close with Michael again, if that is what you are asking. He trusts me."

"Does he now?" Tony said with a smirk.

And even as Ziva had said it, she wasn't even sure she believed it herself. Michaels words to her earlier that day had certainly not spoken of trust.

"By the time Vance had called for my return, I had uncovered a few of Micheal's rogue operations and reported them back to my father. When I left, Papa asked that I be able to continue the mission from here."

"Which is why you went on so many vacations this year."

"I would hardly call them vacations, Tony."

"Then what would you call them, Ziva? Booty calls? Cause that's all I've ever heard them called."

"You think I flew thousands of miles just to have a roll in the mud?"

"Hay."

"Hey what?"

"No, not hey as in….hey. Hay as in farm animals."

"Why would you roll in hay?"

"Why would you roll in mud?"

"Good question."


End file.
